


We Are Becoming Aware

by afterdalton



Category: Glee
Genre: Apocalypse, Bittersweet, Character Death, Drabble, M/M, but only sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterdalton/pseuds/afterdalton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no cure. There’s no explanation or way to predict who it will hit next. Nor is there a way to tell how long it will take once it starts. It’s tearing apart the very idea of reality with each person whose body flickers and fades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Becoming Aware

**Author's Note:**

> filled for Klaine Bingo prompt: apocalyptic
> 
> Semi inspired by the last on [this list](http://gizmodo.com/5969688/7-ways-the-world-could-end-tomorrow)

He holds onto the feeling of being held as though it can tether him to this world. Time is fleeting, but however much they have left, this is where they’ll be. Together. It’s not nearly enough, but it has to be.

Blaine kisses Kurt’s forehead for the twentieth time in as many minutes. Kurt says nothing of the tears that leak down because they only splash against his own. Eyes trained on the clock resting on their bedside table, he pushes back the sickening, rising fear and ultimate truth that Blaine’s perfectly timed, repetitive kisses are a consequence of glitching.

The end of the world is coming fast and hard, but until it does, Kurt can at least pretend that maybe it won’t. But still, he turns in Blaine’s arms and traces Blaine’s features with the tips of his fingers, burning the feeling into his memory and not considering what it will be like when memory is all that’s left.

Blaine first glitched just after the long-whispered rumors had proven true. Kurt hoped he was seeing things, hoped the sun’s glare reflected too heavily off the hallway mirror and caught him in the eyes. But Blaine stood stock-still and recounted the shiver that passed through him, trembled at the moments he lost.

It won’t be long now. Blaine’s survival is already pushing the limits of his condition according to the stories they’ve heard.

People are saying it’s a virus that will wipe them all out eventually, making claims that none of this life is real, hypothesizing themselves as characters in a game or even ghosts being brought back to life. There’s no cure. There’s no explanation or way to predict who it will hit next. Nor is there a way to tell how long it will take once it starts. It’s tearing apart the very idea of reality with each person whose body flickers and fades.

But Kurt doesn’t care how or why or what is happening to the rest of the world; he cares that Blaine is glitching. He cares that he himself is not. He cares that they can’t disappear together, whether they blink out of existence entirely or find something new on the other side. So he takes his traveling fingers and maps out the length of Blaine’s body. He presses his lips and tongue to the solid form, tasting what’s his before the chance is gone. He brushes lightly Blaine’s most sensitive spots, then presses harder, cataloguing the sounds he’s taken for granted as they come unfiltered. He sniffs at the skin of his lover and lets himself be overwhelmed at the tangle of spicy scents and sweet nostalgia.

Their private sliver of the apocalypse comes quietly and without fanfare. Blaine is there and then he’s gone. Kurt’s body falls through the space where Blaine’s had been, landing softly on the blankets smothered with Blaine’s lingering warmth.

Once he’s curled into a ball and swathed in their sheets, it takes hours before he moves even an inch, relaxing when merciful sleep rescues him from his suffering heart.

It’s weeks functioning alone on autopilot before Kurt feels a tingle in the shower and the soap slips not through his fingers, but through his hand. And maybe how fast the virus takes someone is dependent on how willing they are to allow it because it’s barely three days before Kurt greets death with open arms.

:: ::

It’s different this time though neither knows it’s anything but the first time they’ve met. They’ve been reset and they’ll never know of the virus that spread and erased the life they shared. Yet on occasion, a lonely longing comes over Kurt when they spend time apart, and it feels like the echoing of pain across lifetimes.

He holds Blaine tighter on those days. He fails at subtlety in his desperation to be close. He thinks of the pain he’d feel if Blaine were to suddenly disappear and it shreds every ounce of pretense for digging his nails into his lover’s back. When the feelings pass, when he can breathe without burying his nose in Blaine’s neck and his fingers stop itching to tug at Blaine’s curls, his tongue soothes over the angry marks marring Blaine’s skin.

It seems silly to obsess over a man he’s still getting to know, but it helps that Blaine feels the same way. Blaine kisses his forehead and supposes their bodies are vessels for loving one another; when he does, Kurt snickers and calls him a sap, but down to his bones, his body screams it’s the truth.

There’s a rumor buzzing around about a fictional reality, about objects fading before people’s eyes and limbs turning invisible, that life is just a game and they’re all at its mercy. But Kurt doesn’t care. He cares that Blaine’s arms are safe and strong and _real_ around him. He cares that time is irrelevant to how well he loves. He cares that, if this is all a game, at least he and Blaine are playing together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add for those who are reading Work is Work - I'm sorry and that's gonna happen hopefully soon, but quite honestly this is the first semi-postable thing I've written in weeks


End file.
